The first three months after Mia's arrival were unlike anything Aiah and Mikha had ever experienced. It was a cocktail of wonder and exhaustion, a crash course in parenthood filled with 2 AM feedings, mismatched baby socks, laundry mountains, and an overwhelming love that neither of them had ever felt before.
Despite all their reading, research, and the well-meaning tips from friends and family, nothing could have truly prepared them for what it was like to raise a newborn.
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Month one
"Babe, anong oras na?" Aiah whispered, blinking blearily at the glowing digital clock on the nightstand. 3:12 AM.
"Uh... mga three?" Mikha replied from the other side of the bed, her voice raspy and sleepy as she fumbled for her glasses. "Gising siya ulit?"
Aiah didn't answer, just lifted Mia gently from the bassinet where she'd started fussing. "Oo. Gutom siguro."
They moved like a slow, synchronized dance — Aiah adjusting her shirt for nursing, Mikha reaching over to hand her the burp cloth and rub Mia's back gently. Their movements weren't as frantic as that first week. They had started to learn her cries. Hunger had a sharp urgency to it. Tiredness was more of a whimper. Diaper changes came with a dramatic wail that seemed far too intense for such a tiny person.
Mikha sat beside Aiah on the bed, half-awake, watching her wife cradle their daughter in the moonlight.
"She's really ours, no?" Mikha murmured, reaching over to stroke Mia's dark hair. "Every time I look at her, parang hindi pa rin nagsi-sink in."
Aiah smiled, her eyes still soft with exhaustion. "Minsan nga iniisip ko, 'Totoo ba 'to?' Kasi, wow, we made her. We carried her. Tapos ngayon... eto na siya. Gising sa kalagitnaan ng gabi, demanding all our attention."
Mikha leaned her head against Aiah's shoulder. "And we give it. Kahit zombie level na tayo."
They were tired — bone-deep tired — but when Mia's eyes finally fluttered closed again and her tiny fist rested against Aiah's chest, the quiet settled like a soft blanket over them. And despite the soreness, the dark under-eyes, and the countless moments of doubt, there was a calm certainty in that small moment.
This was their new normal. And they wouldn't trade it for the world.
—
Month two
By the second month, they had started trying to create some structure. Trying being the operative word.
"Okay," Mikha said one Monday morning, pacing the living room with a whiteboard in hand. "I made a schedule. Look — feeding times, nap times, tummy time. Structured and color-coded."
"Babe," Aiah said slowly, Mia snoozing on her chest in a sleepy milk coma. "You do realize she's two months old, right? She doesn't know how to read."
"Hindi naman para sa kanya 'to!" Mikha said, slightly offended. "Para sa'tin! Para at least may sense of control tayo."
Aiah gave her a look, amused. "Control? Have you met our daughter?"
As if on cue, Mia stirred, let out a whimper, and promptly spit up on Aiah's shirt.
"See?" Aiah deadpanned, glancing down at the mess. "Wala pang two minutes 'yung schedule mo, sablay na agad."
Mikha sighed, slumping onto the couch. "We're never going to survive this."
"Hey," Aiah said gently, shifting Mia to her other arm and leaning closer to her wife. "We're not supposed to control it. We're just supposed to survive it. One day at a time."
